


In That Cellar

by theladyscribe



Category: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
Genre: Corpses, Future Fic, Gen, Serial Killers, Skeletons In The Closet, time stamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: They don't talk about the bodies in the basement.





	In That Cellar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemirovitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemirovitch/gifts).

> Title is from [In That Cellar](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=32691), by Jay McPherson.

They don't talk about the bodies in the basement. Mortimer and Elaine both know they're there, of course - even Mr. Spinoza, who really couldn't be moved after everything - but they don't speak of the thirteen lonely men buried in the cellar.

The two of them settle into the routine of married life. Elaine makes breakfast, heating coffee and frying eggs on the old wooden stove, Mortimer reads the paper, skipping over the sports to read his wife the celebrity gossip. They kiss just before he dashes out the door to catch the train into the city. Elaine does errands and writes to Aunt Abby and Aunt Martha. Mortimer reviews plays and writes his column and comes home to dinner on the table. They listen to the radio. Mortimer reads his book and Elaine does her embroidery. And they don't talk about the bodies in the basement.

Elaine cleans, working from the attic down, emptying the Brewster house of old magazines, rickety chairs, and bad memories one room at a time. She doesn't go near the cellar, the door tightly shut against what lies in Teddy's locks. Over time, it becomes habit, and she all but forgets about the thirteen men buried in the basement.

They host Elaine's father at Christmas, and he brings a bottle of elderberry wine. She and Mortimer share a look over the wine, and for the first time in weeks, Elaine wonders if they should do something about Aunt Abby and Aunt Martha's lonely gentlemen.

That night, after her father tipsily makes his way across the cemetery and Mortimer has finished off the last slice of the fruitcake Aunt Martha sent home when they visited Happy Dale, Elaine brings it up.

"Mortimer," she says, voice louder than she intends in the quiet of the house. "Do you think we should do something about the… guests in the basement?"

Mortimer blinks at her. He had almost as much of the elderberry wine as her father. "Why, my dear, I do not. I think they're perfectly happy in Panama. Where would we put them? The window seat?"

Elaine rolls her eyes at him. "I didn't mean _that_. I meant - are you sure we shouldn't tell the police about the lonely bachelors and Mr. Spinoza?"

"I'm quite sure," Mortimer answers. "Do you know what would happen if we told the police? They'd be crawling all over the place! Who knows what else they might find! For all we know, there are skeletons in the closet!"

Elaine lets out a snort. "Do you think there might be bats in the belfry?" she asks, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself.

"Don't talk nonsense, Elaine," Mortimer said, grinning. "You know very well there's no belfry in this house."

They share a laugh, and Elaine lets the moment pass. Mortimer carries Elaine off to bed, the wine making him rowdy and randy. They make love, and he falls asleep snoring.

Elaine waits long enough to be sure that Mortimer won't stir. She pulls on her robe and slippers and creeps through the house. The door to the cellar creaks on its hinges as she opens it, but there's no answering sound from upstairs. Elaine turns on the light, the bulb flickering from disuse. She walks down the basement steps, leaving a trail of dust in her wake.

She isn't sure what she expected: the smell of decay, the locks sunken as the bodies decompose, perhaps signs of rodents or other pests trying to get at the men. What she finds is an empty room, the floor slightly uneven. It's as if the events of Halloween - the thirteen bodies, Jonathan's return, everything - never happened, as if it all had been just a fever dream.

Elaine stares at the floor for a long moment and then hurries up the stairs and turns out the light.

She returns to bed, and Mortimer rolls toward her. "Where'd you go?" he murmurs against her hair.

"Nowhere," she says. "Go back to sleep."


End file.
